Demon Storm: Belador book 5 (5 page)

“What’s the holdup?”

Evalle jumped at the deep voice right behind her then turned, wishing
she
had the power to zap Tristan. “What are you doing in human form without getting Macha’s okay?”

“You didn’t say anything about needing her rubber stamp to shift
back
to human form. Why would she be pissed off about that?”

He had a point, but it would have been nice if he’d waited until Macha made up her mind how she was going to deal with the gryphons since they had not been accepted into Macha’s pantheon yet.

It was a question of if, not when, at the moment.

Was it too much to ask Tristan not to draw Macha’s attention until Evalle had a chance to ask the goddess where she stood on gryphons, since they carried half Belador and half Medb blood in their veins? Just like Evalle, Tristan and the other gryphons had started out as Alterants, then evolved into powerful flying creatures, a race with no clear status as of yet.

Several warriors had turned her way to listen, which wouldn’t take much with their sensitive hearing, unless that Belador power was also out of order. Evalle would speak to Tristan telepathically, but Macha might consider it rude if she stepped out onto the front steps in the midst of their speaking mind to mind.

Who knew with a goddess who created her own version of Miss Manners’ rules as she went?

Evalle angled her head for Tristan to follow her and stepped away from the crowd until they were beneath the sprawling arms of an oak tree. She kept her voice down to protect her conversation. “Didn’t we agree that you’d wait for me to come tell you and the other gryphons what’s going on?”

“I am waiting. I just choose to do it in this form.”

Tristan will be the death of me
. He’d come close to causing Evalle’s demise more than once.

His blonde hair spiked in that messy way that men got away with, and the amused blue eyes stared down at her, but only because he had five inches on her five-foot-ten height
.
He clearly waited for Evalle’s volley. She wasn’t going to ask where Tristan had come up with a clean pair of jeans that fit him snug enough to raise the pulse of any female Belador warrior in the crowd. Any woman except Evalle, who had vacillated between wanting to strangle Tristan and thank him for his help when the Medb attacked Treoir.

It would be easy for many Beladors to blame Tristan since word had circulated that he’d joined the Medb, when in truth, he’d been captured and compelled to act.

He’d gone along with Evalle’s plan when they left, and he’d fought for the Beladors once Kizira, the Medb priestess leading the attack, had died in battle, freeing everyone she’d compelled.

Thinking of the battle, Evalle reminded him, “You
will
need Macha’s approval to become a gryphon again.”

Tristan gave a careless shrug. “If she wants my help, she’ll have to let me do what I need to watch over the island.”

“When are you going to make my life easier?”

He stopped checking out the crowd and castle to drop a glare at Evalle that came loaded with hostility. “When are you going to make
my
life easier? I’ve got six other gryphons and two Rías to keep pacified while everyone’s standing here waiting for an edict from Macha. I have yet to hear any atta boys coming from O’goddess for all we’ve done.”

“She said thank you.”

“I say thank you to someone who brings me coffee. I expect a little more for putting our lives on the line for this bunch after the Beladors had a shoot-to-kill order on us until just now.”

“That was technically an order from the Tribunal,” Evalle said, trying to stem the fit of anger building up in the man beside her.

“The Beladors didn’t hesitate to
follow
that order, did they?” Tristan challenged, then cut his gaze hard at the handful of warriors who were angling their bodies to catch Tristan and Evalle’s conversation. “Did you?” Tristan challenged in their direction.

The warriors swung back around, but not before Evalle caught embarrassment on their faces. Tristan had a point, but alienating the Beladors was not going to be productive.

“Tristan.”  She said it softly, imploring him to back off the attitude.

He scrubbed his face with one hand then crossed his arms, but when he spoke it was in a civil tone. “All I’m saying is we’re keeping this place protected better than any Belador can right now with their powers jacked up, and we still aren’t a recognized race with rights. We’re just Macha’s Treoir pets.”

“Give her a chance to–”

Tristan lifted a hand, cutting her off. “I get that everyone is in turmoil over Brina, but I’m out of patience.”

“Getting on Macha’s nerves right now might be a dangerous mistake.”

“Really? She didn’t torch you when you defied her about leaving Treoir to hunt for Storm. We all heard you tell her ‘I dare to piss off the entire fucking universe if that’s what it takes to get him back.’” 

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because the only person I put at risk with that was me, not the rest of the gryphons. She knows I handed off leading the gryphons to you.”

“Whatever.”  He muttered something then his gaze zeroed in on her with curiosity. “Speaking of that loser jaguar, why’d you risk getting turned into a crispy snack to go after him?”

Because Storm is worth more to me than you can ever understand.

Telling Tristan that would just encourage him to continue haranguing her about something that was none of his business. Instead, she’d give him something to think about. “Funny you say that, because Storm asked me why I’d risk my life and fragile standing with the Beladors to help a backstabbing bastard who walked away from me when I stood between him and a black ops team.
His
words, of course. And, why would I continue to stick my neck out to trust you after you took me to meet with a guy who turned out to be a Medb plant and why–”

“I got it, E-
valle
. Give me a break.” 

No. Tristan started this. She added, “
And
Storm has come for me every time I’ve been in a jam. Every. Time. Don’t ever think I won’t turn this world upside down for him.”

“Must be nice,” Tristan muttered.

“What?”

He stared off, taking a slow breath. “To have someone you love that much.”

She felt Tristan’s despair with her empathic senses, reminding her of the loneliness he’d suffered while locked away in the jungle in a spelled cage. It was during times like this that she often overlooked how much of a jerk he could be.

He was right. It was nice to know she was going home to someone who loved her, which she was doing just as soon as she returned to Atlanta.

She changed the subject and told Tristan, “Work with me so all of us can have lives. We’re at the closest point all Alterants have ever been to that happening. Macha has proof that we’re not a threat to Brina, which was her major concern about Alterants.”

Thinking on that reminded Evalle that Tristan had been given a Medb concoction that had resulted in his being able to teleport at times. He could only take one person at a time and had to rest to regain his powers when he did, but...

“Hey, Tristan, can you still teleport?”

“Short distances inside the Treoir boundaries, but I can’t get out.”

“You tried?”

“Of course I tried,” he scowled at her. “Don’t give me that look. I wasn’t abandoning my group, just checking out my resources.”

In a way, Evalle wished he’d been successful, because now she was stuck with only the goddess to teleport her back to Atlanta, and Macha had a memory longer than eternity.

She would not soon forget Evalle’s words only hours ago.

But speaking her mind had felt good. Evalle was sick and tired of being told who she could or could not protect. Ultimately, she was going to give Macha what the goddess wanted by bringing a powerful Skinwalker/shaman to Treoir who could track pretty much any majik.

Storm would have enjoyed watching Evalle stand up to the Celtic goddess.

It had been a beautiful moment for all of the fifteen seconds it took for Evalle to realize she’d just verbally bitch slapped the only person here who could teleport her back to Atlanta–to the mortal world.

Even so, she didn’t regret it and wouldn’t retract her words. They’d come from a heart that ached to be back in Storm’s arms. She missed him with every breath.

Storm
had
constantly put himself in danger for the sole reason of protecting her or helping her with some deadly, impossible task.

Because of him, and only him, she finally knew what it was to care for a man instead of fearing his touch. Storm was her world and her future. She would not sit quietly and wait for him to come to her while he might be fighting that crazy witch doctor.

“Beladors!” Macha said, drawing attention to where she floated above the steps that led up to two massive doors carved with triquetras, a triangle-shaped Belador symbol. Macha might look to be in her late twenties, but she’d been around since life had taken hold on this planet. She normally showed up in a sparkling gown made of some impossible material, but today she wore a dark blue top and pants that swirled with a gauzy effect.

Her hair usually moved all over the place and changed colors faster than a chameleon crossing a rainbow, but now it was cinnamon red, and floated with a quiet calm around her face and shoulders as Macha spoke, “I am proud of the way you fought the Medb, and grieve with you for our fallen.”

Tristan muttered, “Incoming.”

The sound of large wings flapping in the air preceded six gryphons on approach to land. Warriors stepped back, opening up a clearing for the ten-to-twelve-foot tall creatures with thirty-foot wingspans that settled as smoothly as a flock of geese on a lake. But these were no birds. They each had an eagle’s grand profile from head to shoulders, then a lion’s body that flowed to the long tail. A few of them had golden feathers on their heads.

Evalle looked around then whispered to Tristan. “Where are your two Rías buddies?”  

“They didn’t want to come since they aren’t in human form and their beast form isn’t
pretty
like gryphons,” Tristan said with his usual dry sarcasm. “So they’re hiding nearby ... to scope out the Belador women before they’re allowed to shift back to men.”

Evalle smiled. She’d met the two Rías when Tristan took her to the Maze of Death, a bunch of tunnels beneath Atlanta that harbored Civil War ghosts. With the exception of having normal human eyes where Evalle’s were bright green, Rías shifted into monsters similar to Evalle’s original beast form–the one she’d had before she evolved into a gryphon–and they were definitely not an attractive sight.

The gryphons
were
pretty, magnificent even, and she was one of them. In fact, she was now their leader, the strongest in the pack.

Or she would be when she came back from finding Storm. Tristan had better do his job as leader while she was gone to the mortal world.

Turning back to Macha, Evalle noted the indecision that seemed to hang in the air.

What had the goddess hesitating?

Macha finally came to some decision and said, “We welcome the gryphons who defended our island and remain to watch over Treoir. Now that we know what an Alterant is, or at least what one becomes, I will finalize the petition to have Alterants recognized as a race with rights. Every Alterant who swears fealty to me and the Beladors will from that point forward belong to my pantheon.”

Chills raced along Evalle’s skin.

How long had she waited to hear those words? To be accepted as a true Belador and no longer be persecuted for the unknown part of her blood?

She turned to Tristan, whose jaw was slack with disbelief, then he snapped his mouth shut.

She held her breath to see if he would forgive the Beladors for their transgressions against him when he’d been caged like an animal. Or would he snub Macha’s offer? Brina may have been the one who actually locked Tristan away for five years inside that cage in a South American jungle, but Brina took no action without either Macha’s blessing or direction.

Would any of that matter to Tristan?

Macha stood perfectly still and Evalle realized the goddess waited for a sign from the gryphons.

The Belador warriors turned en masse to stare at Tristan, Evalle and the gryphons.

Technically, Evalle was already a Belador, but she bowed her head and prayed that Tristan would not start mouthing off.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him slowly lower his head, then six gryphons dropped their upper bodies and dipped their heads, wings spread in a breathtaking display of colors and acknowledgment.

Evalle’s eyes were swimming but she wasn’t about to put on a waterworks display, not even one with happy tears.

She was a warrior.

No, she was a
Belador
warrior, equal to everyone here.

Macha’s voice rang out. “Your fealty is accepted, gryphons and Rías, and your service in continuing to guard Treoir is appreciated.”

Standing upright again to face her goddess, Evalle searched for Tzader and Quinn. She found them standing off to the side, both rigid with arms crossed.

Not a happy face between them.

They were her two closest friends. The two people who knew more than anything what this meant to Evalle.

What was wrong? Why weren’t they winking at her and smiling? What could have those two so upset?

Oh, besides the love of Quinn’s life stepping between him and death to suffer being gutted, only to die in his arms? Or Tzader racing into the castle to protect Brina, only to have the ward almost kill him–correction, it
did
kill him–and come back to life to find nothing but her holographic image left?

Tzader had never told Evalle, but she’d seen enough to suspect that Brina was far more to Tzader than just the warrior queen of the Beladors.

Yeah, her two best friends were suffering. Celebrating on her part could sit on the back burner until their worlds were better.

That wouldn’t happen for Tzader until they found Brina.